


Say Anything

by guidingkeys



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Minor Character Death, expecting parents I guess?, it's only rated t for slight cursing, not sure what tags to add, semi-domestic fluff-ish?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-21
Updated: 2021-03-21
Packaged: 2021-03-28 10:02:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30137880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guidingkeys/pseuds/guidingkeys
Summary: They were boring people. But she was less bored with Eren around. There was something about him she couldn’t find with anyone else.
Relationships: Krista Lenz | Historia Reiss/Eren Yeager
Comments: 13
Kudos: 48





	Say Anything

**Author's Note:**

> Based on Tumblr prompt: “I got up at 2 am to get some snacks at the convenience store down the street and opened my door to find you trying to sleep on the floor of the hallway because your roommate has his fiancée over, so I guess I’ll lend you my couch for the night.”
> 
> I actually didn’t tweak this one too much! I love making one shots/short stories out of dumb prompts.
> 
> If you haven't watched the films Us and A Quiet Place, please don't read this. You will be spoiled.

She roused at one-fifty-three a.m., hungry as fuck. But for _what?_

Lately, her son fixated on fast food. It wasn’t a healthy choice for either of them, but he demanded nothing less than fried chicken and mashed potatoes dripping in gravy from KFC every day for the last two weeks. The thought of soggy dirt-colored fried skin or gray bone made bile crawl up Historia’s throat now.

Food aversions were a whirlwind.

She threw up last night’s dinner of steamed vegetables dipped in ranch this morning. She could barely hold in her lunch of a regular bologna sandwich. Bologna disgusted her suddenly. Historia couldn’t remember if she ate dinner before retreating to her room to study, though she probably did. She caught an empty jar of chunky peanut butter on her nightstand, a empty plastic plate with bits of toasted bread crumbs.

Historia rolled out of her empty bed, her European history textbook and accompanying notebook falling to the hardwood floor. Shit. At least they missed her feet. She didn’t bother picking them up. Pregnancy made her even lazier. 

Flicking on her lamplight, Historia absentmindedly rubbed her belly. The clear white of her lamplight washed over her messy room. She trudged to the bathroom first, emptying her full bladder. She was sixteen weeks pregnant and finally starting to show—just the slightest curve to her tummy. Historia didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. At least the stretch marks weren’t starting yet, but they would be soon. She had back pain of a third trimester already.

She crossed to her armoire, switching out her pajamas for a sports bra, and rammed her legs into some soft Victoria Secret sweatpants. She threw on one of Eren’s green tank tops, tying a knot at the small of her back. She didn’t know why he hadn’t stopped by tonight. He said he would, and when Eren said things like that, he meant it.

Historia slipped her glasses on, too lazy to fight over putting on her contacts. It would be a quick run to the store. She checked their messages. Eren said he was at the boxing meet around nine-forty, scoping out his competition. Finals were this week, and he needed to relieve stress the only other way he knew how. She graduated a year early with her associates in Women’s Studies and a part-time position at Dr. Erwin Smith’s psychology practice. All those AP classes she’d combated in high school—the ones her father never believed she could pass—paid off. Historia could afford to relax a little at barely twenty years old.

She sent him a text, asking where he was, and locked her phone.

Tail swishing, Kida, her Birman cat, lifted her head. Historia hated seeing her sprawled on her marble kitchen island. Why’d it have to be her favorite spot to chill on? Her cat’s blue eyes challenged her to try to throw her off. The only person her asshole cat listened to was Eren. All he had to do was give her a look or a particular touch, and she’d obey immediately. Historia didn’t have the energy to fight her.

Kida’s eyes followed Historia the entire way through the kitchen/living room space. Historia scratched behind her ears. Kida purred softly in approval. Historia grabbed her car remote and crossbody from the coat rack and pulled open the door. “Me tomo el palo,” she told her cat.

Kida meowed in response, plopping her head back down.

Historia took the elevator, her apartment on the fourth floor. She should’ve taken the stairs. The elevator was small and smelled like stale fish and weed. It was so hot, sweat dotted uncomfortably on her armpits. Her shortness of breath got the better of her lately. She could barely go up two flights of stairs on campus without bending over to gasp for air and the sting of abdominal pains wrecking her insides.

Once the elevator dinged, Historia rushed out. The night was warm, spring beginning to melt into summer. Dull lights illuminated her almost packed apartment complex parking lot. She clicked the key, and her BMW unlocked by the wall.

Movement from her peripheral made her jump. Someone sat on the ground, fixing their position to lay on the floor. She squinted, thinking it was one of the homeless men stippled around the area.

But Historia sighed, rubbing her temples. Her stomach did somersaults. “Ay, por Dios, chico. Why are you like this?” She muttered, marching over. “Eren, wake up, papa,” Historia ordered, lightly tapping on his shoes. He was wearing the green checkered Vans she’d bought him for Christmas.

Eren bolted out of sleep like someone electrocuted him, almost smacking his head on the wall. His fists clenched tight, ready to snap into the first jaw. “ _Come mierda_ ,” he hissed, gingerly massaging the wrist of his bandaged hand. A wrist fracture wasn’t the worst injury he’d ever suffered.

“It’s just me, bobo,” she said, arms crossed tight over her chest.

Eren squinted at her. His aggravation muddled into confusion. “Historia? What’re you doing out here, mama?”

“The better question is, why aren’t _you_ inside?” She pointed to the door by his other side, marked 111.

Eren closed his tired eyes. He stretched his long legs, his feet touching the edge of the open hallway, where it dropped an inch into the asphalt parking lot. “Sasha’s here. It’s winter break in Switzerland, so she flew back.”

“... ¿Y?”

He slid her a deadpan expression. _Guess_.

“ _Oh_.”

“Yeah. They’re loud and annoying.” Eren rubbed his eyes with the heel of his good hand and cracked his neck, the bones popping almost made her jump out of her skin. “But what’re you doing out here? It’s”—He pulled his cracked iPhone out of the pocket of his ripped jeans. The screen didn’t light up—”... late?” Eren guessed.

Her face softened. “What happened at the meet?”

“The guy didn't show up so they rescheduled. I went to study some more.” He yawned, and the act almost made her yawn in response. Eren furiously rubbed his eyes, blinking and struggling to focus. “The library kicked me out at eleven-thirty. Social science is a motherfucker,” he muttered, shaking his head.

She almost gasped. She didn't bother to hide her shock. “So you’ve been here since then?”

“I think so, yeah. Why, what time is it?”

Historia sighed, closing the space between them. She hooked her hands under his bicep and tugged up. “Why didn’t you call me, tonto? I would’ve picked you up!”

Eren allowed her to help him up, though he used the wall for most of his support. His stupid male pride got in the way of necessities, and it annoyed her to no end. He couldn’t even bother to call when he desperately needed a ride home to get much-needed sleep after his two exams today. “My phone died. Dunno when.”

Her face fell. “Weren’t you with Annie? You could’ve borrowed her phone. She has my number.”

“I lost her in the crowd after they rescheduled."

Her brows furrowed. "You have my number memorized," Historia insisted. "You should've found a way to call me. Or, you know, you could’ve just knocked.”

Eren sighed. “I just didn’t wanna bother you, mama.”

She stared up at him pointedly. Historia fixed her rectangular framed glasses back with a finger. “Eren?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re his father. You’re allowed to bother me.”

His head dropped on her shoulder, his warm breath tickling her skin. Her initial annoyance wilted. Eren was generally affectionate, even more so when he was unbelievably tired. She wrapped her arms around his muscular body, tucking him in. His loose hair fell over her shoulders, skirting across her chest. Eren’s smooth cologne, the coconut splash of her conditioner in his hair, and even his sweat didn’t make her recoil like almost everything else seemed to do lately. Her stomach fluttered. He always knew when dad was around.

“It’s a girl,” he argued stubbornly, rubbing her sides in affection.

"So you keep saying.”

“And you already have enough trouble going to sleep. I don’t wanna add onto that by waking you up so you could come get me. Or wake you up in the middle of the night.”

“You know it’s only gonna get worse, right?” Eren nodded and kissed the column of her throat. His five o’clock shadow added a spark of friction she wasn’t ready for. Historia shivered, pushing at him slightly. “He's gonna start kicking the shit outta me soon."

Eren pulled back, frowning at her stomach. He poked it. “Be nicer to your mother, mamita,” he warned thinly. “Don’t be like that horse-faced asshole who barely talks to his.”

She almost smiled, but Historia was still annoyed—more so at his new set of _friends_. Eren's stupid kindness always got taken advantage of—the house, rides, assignments. Annie Leonhart was one of the only friends of his Historia tolerated. She was his undisclosed coach, helped by her father, a veteran boxer. But even Annie had her moments where she pushed too much, demanded too much from him, where he came over limping, concealing his pain by deflecting and joking. Eren never seemed to mind. He loved boxing ever since he found pictures of his Tío Kruger wearing the gloves and shorts, black and white snapshots of him training at the gym and in the ring. Tía Faye never wanted to tell Eren so much of that life so he discovered it for himself.

Historia knew it was a matter of time before Eren quit pursuing political science and chose boxing. He could hide it from her as much as he wanted, but Historia knew him too well.

“Remind me tomorrow to make you a spare key.” She took his bandaged hand by his knuckles and turned around. “I should’ve done it a long time ago.”

“Historia—”

“Eren, it’s fine,” she looked back at him. “You said we’re in this together, right?”

Eren sighed. He grabbed his backpack off the ground and slung it on his shoulder, side-stepping for her other hand with his good one. “Como siempre.”

* * *

Historia insisted he should stay. Cuddle up with Kida and get some sleep. She never left the counter while Historia was gone. Now she sat, watching him. Waiting.

“¿Estás _loca_ , chica?” Eren blurted, rushing around her kitchen. He filed some of her washed and dried plates in her cabinets. “Do you know how dangerous it is for a pregnant woman to be out at this time?”

She pursed her lips, drumming her manicured on the counter. “I’ve done it before.”

He almost dropped the Red Bull he’d pulled from her fridge, fumbling for the can like juggling three balls at once. “¡¿ _Qué-qué?!”_ Eren exclaimed, catching it. “ _When was this?!_ ”

“Whenever you don’t come over, and your son demands a fourth meal?” She shrugged. "It happens a lot."

His gray eyes narrowed at her stomach. “Mamita,” he warned like he’d give the baby a lecture about it later. His eyes flicked back to Historia. “Historia. Por favor. Call me next time.” He popped open the can.

She smiled wryly. “You know how you said you don’t like to bother me?”

Eren glared over the rim of the can. "That's not the same," he warned.

Historia rolled her eyes, pushing her cheek into her fist. “Nothing’s gonna happen to me, Eren. I just go to the store and come back. No biggie—painless.”

“You. Are. Absolutely. Loca,” he punctuated, absolutely serious. “I _really_ don’t feel comfortable with you going out this late at night, Historia.”

She shrugged, conceding. “You should just move in, then, so I won’t have to.”

He didn’t take the bait. Like always.

Eren sipped some more before he slid the remaining liquid into the fridge for another day. Kida tried to follow them out, meowing sweetly for his attention. Her cat was even more in love with him than Historia was. Kida was the clingy other woman of Eren’s life. He named her, and it was like she was tied to him because of it.

He crouched at the door and gave her a quick little scratch under the chin. She wasn’t satisfied.

Kida required a few minutes of his undivided attention and belly rubs before she finally got bored and trotted off. Historia used the bathroom in the meantime.

Eren set the window down on his side but kept the A/C on for her. The night sliced through their hairs. He raised the radio volume, an old school Don Omar song he liked to workout to playing from the USB port. Eren never went beyond the speed limit though Historia knew he’d love nothing more than to kick it up a notch in her two-door, 8 Series coupe.

She was still sad about letting this car go when the baby was born. A regular, four-door sedan… wasn’t her. She was rebellious by nature and loved luxury—pretty cars, designer bags, sparkly jewelry. The brand new, paid-off BMW was a gift from her father for graduating with her associates early. And Rod paid her rent every month since then. She guessed it was her father’s attempt to apologize for all the shit he’d told her when she was young. It didn’t heal much, but Historia guessed the thought was nice. It definitely helped her finances, placing her in a position where she could devote most of her money to her future child.

She hadn't told her father about the baby yet. Frieda knew, but Historia begged her not to utter a word. She wasn't sure how Rod would take it, especially when he realized it would be _Eren's_ baby.

Historia reclined the seat back as Eren turned the corner, towards one of the complex exits. Historia squirmed.

Eren glanced at her, raising a brow. “You okay?”

“Your son’s not comfortable,” she grumbled, unwinding his shirt and tying it to the side. It helped a little bit.

“Yeah, figured my girl would be as restless as you. You two are the worst.”

She rolled her eyes, propping her feet up on the dashboard. “Are you sure you don’t wanna know the gender?” Historia asked, lolling her head to the side. “We can always end this never-ending argument if you let me do the sonogram.”

“No.”

“Okay. Be that way.” She held her palms up. “But don’t be surprised when I’m right!”

“You just like fighting with me about it, viejita,” he jeered, pulling on her dimpled cheek.

“¡Ja! _Please, niño_.” She slapped his hand away. “Don’t you know moms are always right? Even your mom says it’s a boy,” Historia pointed out. “She says I have almost all the symptoms she had with you.”

Eren rolled his eyes. He couldn’t argue too much with his mother’s experience. She'd been a young mom like himself, only difference was that she also raised her husband's kid from his first marriage. Zeke's mother passed from a thyroid condition, leaving Grisha to raise him by himself until he found Carla.

Historia thought Eren would be terrified about being a dad. What barely twenty-year-old guy in college with a future ahead of him wouldn't be? _She'd_ been terrified when her two tests came back positive though she always had dreams of being a mother someday. But Eren was so infectiously excited. He'd tackled her to the bed and drowned her in kisses. There was something about the prospect of fatherhood that made him more determined to get things in order. They had almost everything prepared, except for baby names and the color of the room.

But as much as being a parent made him happy, it weighed on Eren. She could feel deep in his chest, on his shoulders like a heavy jacket. There was no doubt Eren loved his mother, but it just wasn't the same as being able to talk to his father. Especially now. The absence of him hung over Eren even more than it did during his teenage years. The police said Grisha's case was the plot of wrong place, the wrong time. Eren and Mikasa were barely four years old. Zeke had just turned twelve. Carla never bothered to push for further investigation, too molded by her grief and the abrupt knowledge of being left to raise three kids on her own.

“We should let them decide what they wanna be,” Eren said.

“Yeah, that’s true.” Historia agreed, looking down. When she sat, her bump was a little more noticeable. "I just want them to be happy."

“Mhm. Until then…” His hand slipped under her— _his_ —shirt, splaying his palm across her stomach. His calloused fingers softly stroked her barely-there bump. Her son did his weird little flutter that wasn’t quite a kick yet, just a bizarre flapping like a butterfly’s wings. “Any idea what she wants?”

Historia scoffed. “I have no idea. He just needs it _right now,_ or he’ll punish me all of tomorrow if I don’t do something about it.”

He smirked. “She’s tired of fried chicken?”

“Seems like it.” She held onto his wrist, scooting it further down to the side. The baby didn’t move around too much yet, but Historia always knew precisely where he was. “He’s thinking something sugary tonight—I just dunno what.”

Eren chuckled. “I guess we’ll figure it out when we get there.” He slowed down for a blinking yellow intersection, looking both ways twice before picking up speed again. The slight lurch made her hiccup. He rubbed her stomach in apology. “Where’re we going, anyway?”

“I usually go to Walgreens. The one by campus is open twenty-four hours— _ugh! Eren!_ ” She whined, waving her hand at the song. “Turn this shit _off.”_

He was offended, glancing at the stereo dock. “You like this song.”

She folded her arms across her chest, pouting. “I _did,_ but… El Conejo Malo’s the whole reason I’m pregnant right now,” Historia muttered.

Eren’s defined eyebrows drew, knitting deeply in thought. He squinted at the dark road. “I’m… pretty sure it’s Romeo Santos’ fault.”

“No, it isn't,” she snorted. “I’ve been listening to Aventura since I was born, and I can assure you that _this_ ”—Historia gestured to her stomach—“has _never_ happened before.”

“You were dating girls before. Of course, this would happen with me.”

Historia rolled her eyes. “Not the point at all.”

He clicked the nozzle on the steering wheel to skip the song, anyway. Becky G featuring Bad Bunny started playing. She liked this song but wanted that stupid bunny man _gone_ from existence for a little while. He skipped it, too. “We were at Tía Faye’s house, remember?” Eren argued. “I dunked you in the pool, you got mad, so we went to the bathroom, and… _yeah._ That one Aventura song started playing.”

She broke into a laugh. “You’re so corny if _that’s_ what you remember!”

Eren slid her a glare, the tips of his ears red. “You only remember the part dónde me jodí el culo.”

Historia laughed louder, squeezing his wrist. “I told you we should’ve waited until we got home! Those tiles in your Tía’s bathroom looked dangerous.”

“I couldn’t wait,” Eren sighed, ashamed. “That skirt and biker jacket _really_ drove me nuts.”

“And so, your ass paid the price,” Historia retorted.

He shook his head, pouting. “I still feel it ‘til this day.”

She giggled, tugging on his hair. “I guess I _did_ look pretty irresistible, though.” She grinned. “But I’m pretty sure that’s not the day I got pregnant. It had to be a couple of days later—that Thursday you won your match.”

Eren thought. “... Okay, yeah. But if it _was_ that night, then it’s also J. Balvin’s fault.” He gestured at the stereo to highlight his point. “I’m pretty sure it was that time in the bathroom, though.”

“Ugh, whatever! Change it. Please!”

Eren rolled his eyes, smiling. He picked up his phone at a blaring red intersection light, setting the music to his boy, Tyler, the Creator. He dropped it back into the cupholder. “Most of my family’s too old school for that kind of music, Historia. Even my mom thinks it’s tacky, and she’s young for her age. Funny enough, I think my dad would've liked it.”

“It is kind of tacky,” Historia agreed. “All they do is talk about smoking and sleeping with women _and_ sexy women.”

Eren frowned. “Look, it’s fun to listen to, okay? Music doesn’t always need to have a deeper meaning than to entertain a crowd.”

“I _guess_. But you listen to it just to piss off your family." Historia pulled his cheek, his stubble pinching her fingers. All she wanted was to feel it on her skin again when they got back to her apartment. Eren was deliriously attractive, especially with his hair down like tonight and his delicate face unshaven. Pregnancy made her attraction to him much more intense. "You’re so petty."

“Yeah,” he admitted, “it’s fun. And it works.”

“You gotta grow up, papito.” She said, poking his cheek. “You’re gonna be a dad soon.”

He took her hand, threading his fingers between hers. Eren brought their hands to his lips and kissed hers. “You first.”

* * *

Night here was so different from Shiganshina.

Back home, people used to speed race. Reeve’s Butcher Shop & Co was a popular hot spot for high school seniors to catch the races and a midnight snack of sandwiches and wings. Eren used to take her sometimes. It wasn’t his thing, but he appreciated the thrill, the fast cars, and the gasoline thick in the air. He mostly went to support his buddy, Jean Kirstein. Their friends were so rowdy, always jumping so high they could touch the sky whenever Jean passed the mark, tumbling into one another and knocking each other down like dominos.

They were the stark opposite of Ymir’s quiet and broody group of college friends. Ymir didn’t like going to the races no matter how much Historia begged her to come. She was always busy studying. Historia liked that about her, the same way she used to like Eren’s friends. They were always quick to pull pranks and crack jokes, but the last summer before college pulled them all in different directions. College made other people out of them. The calls and posts on FaceBook dropped steadily.

Maybe it was just then. Her and Eren hadn’t changed much since they left home. They were boring people. But she was less bored with Eren around. There was something about him she couldn’t find with anyone else.

Speed racing was illegal in Orvud. Too many high risks—mountains, irreparable streets, potholes. It didn’t stop any fidgety college boys with the nicer cars from trying, their engines roaring a block away from her complex. Or racing down this wide strip right by the Walgreens across from campus. But not tonight. It was desolate.

Eren parked the car in the lane closest to the door and tied his hair into a bun. When they weren’t at races, the two of them used to sneak out. They’d climb to the rooftop of the abandoned movie theatre. It was the tallest building in their town, perfect for laying back on a blanket and watching the stars. They’d sip on some fresh mate she made for them and whatever dulce de leche alfajores her father picked up from the bakery that week. They stayed up too late. Sometimes they didn’t even talk. Other times, Mikasa caught Eren on the way back. She tattled, of course, and Eren would be grounded for a couple of weeks before doing it all over again.

Ymir liked Eren. She trusted both of them. She wasn't afraid to let Historia know what she was doing was weird and would raise suspicion, but Historia hadn't seen anything wrong about hanging out with a friend so late at night. Looking back on it now, the late nights she spent with him were the start of her downfall with Ymir.

The automatic doors shoved open, a blast of cold hair punching her exposed skin. Historia trembled. She was an idiot for not wearing something with long sleeves. The cashier droned a customary greeting, punching on their phone. Eren steered to the far right, towards the photo pick-ups. For a guy who was so insistent on not letting her go off on her own, he ditched her quick.

She stalked to the candy aisle. There was an early Mother’s Day Sale going on. Buy two, get one free. Her son wanted sugar, but all these hard candies, gummy worms, Sour Patch Kids, and Twizzlers made Historia want to puke right there. Well, she never liked Twizzlers much so she guessed that was fair. Historia reached for the Hershey’s Cookies N’ Cream Drops. Those were her favorite. Or used to be.

Fuck food aversions.

Historia pulled back. “What do you want, nene?” She murmured to her stomach, stroking it under her shirt. “Mamá wants to be in and out. I can’t stay around tonight.”

She shuffled up the aisle. “Not even Butterfingers?” Historia whined. Butterfingers were a solid second favorite, especially crushed and blended with the ice cream blasts at Sonic. It sucked they weren’t open this late.

She dragged over to the Ghiradelli boxes and bars, the Godiva squares, and Rafaellos. She eyed the Ferrero Rocher's box. Only more sickness and a sting that felt worse than a period cramp on her side.

Historia groaned, pressing into it gently. “Amorsito, _please?”_ She begged, rubbing her goose-prickled arms. Fuck, she was so cold. “Tell me what you want. Give Mamá a sign.”

Eren rounded the corner, whistling and swaying his head to Dua Lipa filtering over the store’s speakers. He held a jar of multivitamins in one hand, his arm hooked around a bag of bright violet bag of chips— 

Historia heaved, pressing her first to her mouth. One hand flew to her queasy stomach.

Eren stilled, assessing her. He was damn near ready to throw her over her shoulder and barge into the restroom. “... Are you okay?”

She nodded slowly, hastily gesturing to the bag. “Just… You can’t…” Historia swallowed thickly. “Not the Taki’s. Not tonight.”

His jaw dropped. “ _What?! Why not?!”_

“He doesn’t want it,” she explained, smoothing circles over her stomach, “and if you eat those, I don’t think I’d be able to kiss you tonight.”

Eren looked _devastated,_ eyeing her stomach pleadingly. “Mamita, _please?_ I had a really shitty day, and I haven’t had these in forever, and this would _really_ make Papá feel so much better,” he begged.

“Dice que lo siente,” Historia said, grimacing. “And you need to stop cursing. I don’t want your bad habits rubbing off on him.”

"Tú maldecirás más que yo," he muttered, shuffling away in defeat. She couldn’t even laugh at his childishness.

Historia took a deep breath, willing nausea to go down. She looked down at her flip-flops, the dirty linoleum, as she moved across aisles, following Eren. He put the Taki’s back with a begrudging reluctance.

He caressed the bag like a lost lover. “Can I get Flamin’ Hot Cheetos?”

“No.”

“What about if a brush my teeth really good?” He tried.

”I will banish you to the couch tonight if you pick up anything remotely spicy."

Eren sighed.

She didn’t feel much better in the snack aisle. Historia avoided the chips, even the BBQ Lays she used to love so much pre-pregnancy. She grabbed a jar of chunky peanut butter, a box of Debbie’s Zebra cakes, and cinnamon Pop-Tarts. She tried to grab the double-stuffed Oreos on the top shelf, but her fingers barely grazed the package. She was on the verge of giving up when Eren swooped in behind her, grabbing it effortlessly.

Historia flushed over her shoulder, tucking it under her arm when Eren passed it to her. She fixed her glasses. “Thanks.”

Eren nodded, wrapping his arm around her. He pressed his cheek to her hair, the cold vitamin bottle pressed to the peek of skin on her side. “Mhm. Anything for you guys.”

Historia stroked his bandaged wrist with her thumb, his heartbeat steady behind her. “Are you mad, papa?”

“No? Why would I be?” Eren chuckled, loosening his hold on her just to splay his big hand over her stomach again. He dropped his head on her shoulder. “They’re just chips—’s not a big deal. I’ve been eating too much junk food anyway,” he reasoned. “I’ll just grab some muscle milk and make something when we get back if I’m still hungry.”

“No, I mean, is everything okay? With you?”

“Oh. Yeah. Just stressed from exams,” he mouthed on her shoulder. She hated when Eren decided to be a tease. Historia would elbow him, but she wasn’t sure what he was hiding from her. The last time she elbowed him in the ribs, Eren nearly cried out in pain. “Zeke came by the ring tonight.”

“Hm,” she hummed, thumbing his bandaged hand. Historia clenched her jaw. “What did he want?”

“The usual—that I should stop wasting my time with this boxing stuff and get a real job like him.”

He wasn't too thrilled at the idea of Eren knocking her up without them being married. Zeke seemed to think Grisha would've had an issue with it. It wasn't the right way to do things. He wasn't keen on the idea of being an uncle before thirty. Or an uncle at all. It wasn't like Eren would ever ask him to babysit. Zeke's calls usually went unanswered or straight to voicemail.

She smiled cynically, leaning her head on his, her mouth by his ear. "I would’ve broken up with you a long time ago if you were anything like him.”

His lips pulled back into a grin on her shoulder. "I wouldn't blame you. I'd probably get fed up with myself and punch me in the face."

They didn't know how Zeke found out about Eren's boxing. Or how he always seemed to know where the meetings were. Eren hated that Zeke decided to move so close by. He hadn't seen much of him as a teenager since Zeke was eight years older and in college by the time Eren was twelve. Now, he saw him practically every week.

He thought he did well to keep boxing from his family. It would devastate Tía Faye, who lost Tío Kruger to a concussion he never recovered from. Not even Carla knew where Eren's money in his teenage years came from. She believed the like he'd told her about working at a men's shoe store and making decent commission. She could never check on that from working two jobs and going to school part-time for her business degree. Mikasa was the only one who knew, having found out purely by accident, and she'd promised years ago never to say anything after much begging from Eren's part.

Zeke was an ass, though, so Historia knew it was only a matter of time before shit hit the fan. She just hoped it happened after the baby was born.

"We should go back."

“If you want. You should get some sleep." Eren said, stroking her stomach. “This is all she wanted?”

“I don’t think so, but he hasn’t given me a sign that it _isn’t_ what he wants,” she countered. Historia thought, then shook the Oreos bag. “I think I'm gonna try dipping it in ranch. The bottle's about to expire.”

“That sounds…” Eren struggled. Historia hadn’t experienced any intense food cravings, but some of her combinations started to get weird. “...It can’t be any worse than Honey Buns and melted cheese.”

Historia giggled, remembering the horrified look on Eren’s face when he came over that day. “You should try it! I swear, it’s _so_ good!”

She didn’t have to see his face to know he’d scrunched it. “I believe you. A PB&J and Doritos sandwich is as much as you’ll get outta me.”

Historia chuckled, nuzzling the side of his head. She kissed his hair. “Don’t you wanna leave? Aren’t you tired?”

“Exhausted,” Eren answered truthfully, kissing her neck. He pulled away, rubbing her shoulders—one with the tips of two fingers, still gripping the bottle. “But it’s fine. I’m okay. Take your time.”

She arched into his touch. “What about your social exam? Go lower, please.”

“Eh. It’s not until three. I’ll skip working out tomorrow to sleep in.” He pressed his knuckles into her shoulder blade, and Historia bit her lip. His chest was still mostly flush with her back, but Historia was otherwise shivering, exposed to the store’s cold air. “Cold?” He noticed.

She nodded. “The refrigeration system’s right behind us,” Historia pointed out, and a second later, his zip-up sweater was around her shoulders. “Wait, you didn’t—”

“It’s fine, mama. It’s my job to take care of you,” he assured, sliding his bad hand into his jeans pocket, puffing his stringer T-shirt. All his lean, toned muscles carved him out to be equally fast and powerful in the boxing ring. Eren wouldn’t be as fast as Annie, but he never let that deter him. Historia had seen him knock out guys twice his mass size.

Whenever Eren wore hoodies and baggy shirts, she could almost forget he was a renowned underground boxer. Stories from his fights in Shiganshina traveled all the way or Orvud. Like this, he could almost pass for a typical college kid. Not El Titán.

Her eyes fell to the floor. “We’re supposed to take care of each other,” she reasoned.

“We do,” Eren said with a gentle smile, rubbing her head, fingering a lock of her hair. “You take care of me plenty. You just never see it.”

* * *

Eren wasn’t much of a cook—not like Ymir.

Her five-star meals rivaled Niccolo’s. It was one of the things Historia really missed about her. Ymir’s adopted parents were both professional chefs, their Vietnamese recipes lying everywhere around their cozy house. Ymir and Niccolo might’ve been great friends if Ymir hadn’t stayed back in Shiganshina.

Mikasa took the task of cooking upon herself when Carla missed dinner or called in that she’d be late. Carla always tried to make it home for dinner so they could have some semblance of family time. Neither of them let Eren near the kitchen—he loved dipping his fingers into cake batters and sampled a spoonful too much whenever they weren’t paying attention.

Now that he was on his own and almost going two years living with a professional chef, Niccolo taught him a thing or two. In exchange, Eren shared some of his mom’s Cuban recipes.

Eren made arroz con leche when they got back from her apartment. The zebra cakes finally sparked an idea in her son that he unknowingly craved. Eren had to buy condensed milk.

The scent was so delicious, the aroma settling like a cloud over her apartment. Her stomach fluttered, but it was a good feeling. Historia could tell her son was excited. Eren never gave Niccolo the recipe for this, no matter how many times Niccolo begged. He only knew how to make it the Mexican way, the way he was taught in school—super sweet and sometimes sprinkled with raisins.

Historia only had this dessert twice in her life, both times at Faye’s house. It tasted more like a snack. Chocotorta was more of her thing. God, she could for a thick slice of that chocolaty goodness right about now. Her son disagreed.

She moved to help him stir the sticky liquid, but Eren told her to take it easy and banished her to the room. Historia hated feeling useless. It was only a matter of time before Eren would have to do almost everything for her. She wasn’t ready for the swollen feet.

Only Kida was allowed near him, perched on his broad shoulders like her second home. She nuzzled his hair bun with a goofy smile on her tanned mouth.

Historia begrudgingly let them be after putting her items away, stealing two double-stuffed Oreos. The alarm clock in her room said it was about to touch four in the morning. She shoved up her glasses and rubbed her tired eyes. She wouldn’t go to sleep without Eren.

After slipping out of her sweatpants and Eren's sweater, Historia climbed into bed, browsing through cable. There was nothing good going on. Historia frowned, switching over to Netflix. She propped her pillows behind her, scrolling through her categories. She loved scary movies, devoured them the way regular girls did with romantic comedies, but she wasn’t in the mood to watch something new. She picked _Us_ and scrolled through FaceBook. Nothing was interesting. Just a bunch of notifications from people she didn’t actually care about and a few tagged posts from Frieda she responded to.

A few minutes into the movie, Eren came in with a bowl in one hand, Kida still on his shoulders.

Historia put her phone down and took the warm bowl. “Did you put cinnamon?”

“Claro.” He grabbed a handful of Kida’s fur by the neck and dropped her on the bed. She humphed. “I put in a lot more than usual, though. You always say nobody puts enough."

“Yay!”

Eren stripped out of his shirt and jeans. He popped open her nightstand, pulling out a fresh roll of bandages, and cloaked his wrist up to his knuckles. He picked up her books with his good hand and slid them into her shelf.

He climbed on top of Historia, resting his head on her stomach. His calves hung off her bed. Eren pushed her shirt up, his breath hot on her tummy, his corded arms tight around her. Ever since the doctor told them the baby could hear, Eren liked to hum Selena’s music as a lullaby. Tonight didn’t seem like one of those nights. They were both too tired. But he still wanted to be near.

Kida jumped on the small of his beck, circling until she plopped into a crescent.

Historia chuckled, sliding down the pillow, opening a little more space for him so both of them could be comfortable. 

“You’re not having any?”

He shook his head slightly, his lashes brushing her stomach. “The muscle milk got me full,” he murmured. The blue-white glare of the TV ignited his well-designed back—a mess of purple and yellow bruises. Eren considered them a map of constellations, a reward for his endurance and focus, but Historia could never agree. It was a map of pain and hardship. She would get him an ice pack if he weren't pinning her down.

She sighed through her nose and continued eating, her mind filtering in and out of the movie. The arroz con leche tasted almost like his mother’s—the soft rice nearly melting on her tongue and not overly sweet. It needed more cinnamon, but she wouldn’t complain. He’d done enough for her tonight.

His back steadily rose and fell. She thought Eren fell asleep. He was an easy sleeper—all the guy needed was some kind of pillow to lay his head. Her semi-plastic stomach was his favorite one now, the baby's heartbeat pressed to his ear. But Eren seemed to be watching the movie given the number of times he recoiled and flinched.

She giggled. “Is this your first time? I wish you’d gone to see it with me in the theater. Ymir took me.”

“You know I fuckin’ hate scary movies,” Eren grumbled, tightening his hold on her midsection. “I hope she hates them, too. We’ll force you to watch all the Disney movies and cartoons with us. You’ll be singing ‘I Just Can't Wait to Be King’ in your sleep by the time we’re done with you.”

She couldn’t wait. “This movie’s more thought-provoking than scary. It’s a take on how we’re our own worst enemy. You’d like it a lot.”

“No.”

She pulled her lips to keep from smiling, depositing the empty bowl on her nightstand. “Ay, mi pobrecito bebé,” she cooed, working his— _her_ pink—hair tie off, his hair slipping into her fingers.

Eren sniffed. “I like the dad so far, though.”

“That would so be you—not listening to me and charging outside with the baseball bat, telling these weird people to fuck off.”

He chuckled, then abruptly stopped. “ _Please_ , tell me he lives.”

“Of course he does,” she told him, carding her fingers through his thick black hair. Where her blonde had a hint of curls and humidity got the best of her most days, Eren had perfectly pin-straight hair. She hoped their son had his hair. And his gray eyes. She knew Eren would disagree. “They all make it out alive. He gets beat up pretty bad, though.”

“Okay. As long as he’s alive, I think I like this movie now.”

"You might just like _A Quiet Place,_ " she offered. "But the dad doesn't live in that one. He sacrifices himself so his kids can escape."

"Fuck that one. That sounds _awful._ ”

“It’s settled. We’re watching it after finals are over.”

Eren groaned.

She grinned, weaving her fingers through his hair. They watched more of the movie in silence. She imagined he fell asleep now. Eren loved his hair played with. He barely moved from his position. He was mostly a still sleeper. She was the octopus.

Kida got bored of being on his back. She trotted over his shoulders, hopping down and head-butting the side of her waist before flopped with her back pressed comfortably to Historia’s side. She’d been doing that a lot. She must know. Animals were freakishly intuitive.

The family in the movie took a small reprieve in the lake house. Historia dozed off.

“Hey, Historia?”

She rubbed her face, knocking her glasses up. Eren perched his chin on her stomach, staring straight into her eyes, suddenly so serious and intense and not tired at all.

“Hmm?”

“Do you want me to quit boxing?”

Historia blinked, not understanding at first. Her dry lips parted. She was wide awake. “Why would you ask me that?”

His brow quirked slightly. “Because I want your opinion? Why else?” Eren softened, smiling demurely. “I see the way you look at me sometimes. Like you’re scared. And as you'd say, I much prefer being looked to as a snack.”

She was stumped. Historia knew what to say, but Eren’s steady eyes stole so many of her words. She knew how much time and blood and sweat and tears Eren poured into this sport. He’d been boxing since junior year of high school. And while he loved it, he did it at first to put food on the table, keep the lights on. He molded his body to suffer blow after blow until it no longer collapsed. But she was always afraid that it would.

She stroked his cheek, smiling. “I can’t imagine you working a regular nine-to-five.”

He smirked slightly, but it wasn't confident. “Yeah. It sounds boring,” Eren agreed.

“Why’re you asking me this, though?” Her brow furrowed. She thumbed his. There was a small scar in the shape of a slit. People thought it was on purpose. It _did_ look cool, as long as they didn’t know the bloody story behind it. “What did Zeke tell you?” She whispered, imploring.

Eren let out a long sigh through his nose. “Just that I’d be able to take care of you guys better if I stopped. You know, if I finish school and get a regular job,” he admitted. “I could save up to buy a new car. Buy you a nice house by the lake. Buy you a ring. Take you on vacation sometime." He rubbed his hair, his arm flopping on the bed. "Boxing pays in perseverance and it's not much money unless people wager. It's enough to get me by, but it's not enough to look after you."

Her brows drew. “We’re not poor, Eren.”

“ _You’re_ not,” Eren corrected, looking away. “But me… You know I don’t come from much, Historia.” He laid his head back down, facing the TV and sighed. “I’ve had to work my ass off for everything since the day I turned twelve. And, sometimes, it's still not enough. I don't have much to offer you."

“Eren,” she tried not to frown, “if I wanted some semblance of a normal life, I’d still be with Ymir.”

That got him to shut up.

Ymir wanted to go to SCC together. She would major in gender studies with a minor in sports medicine, and Historia would enroll for a major in humanitarian work. They’d live a quiet and secluded life in a condo by the beach. Have three annoying Pomeranians instead of children and grow a vegetable garden. They would go to every single football game and frat parties Ymir was always inviting herself to. Travel.

Historia never wanted that. As pretty as Ymir’s future sounded, she knew it wasn’t for her.

Orvud University was always Historia’s top choice. She refused to settle for anything less than the best. All the men in her family were alumni, and she was the first one who dared to try. Even if she went for Women’s Studies instead of becoming a lawyer like her uncle or a politician like her father, Historia still had something to prove.

Historia was devastated when Orvud waitlisted her. Eren told her some things happen for a reason. She’d been mad at him for saying that dumb shit at first—of fucking course, things happened for a reason! She wasn’t good enough to get accepted. That was the reason! 

Ymir couldn’t understand her frustration. But Eren did.

He looked at her as if reading her thoughts.

“You need to stop listening to Zeke,” Historia told him, tucking some of his hair behind his ear.

He sighed. “Yeah. Yeah, I know. I usually don’t.” Eren shifted slightly upwards, pressing his nose into her neck, one arm cradling her. His bandaged hand laid flat on her stomach, his scratchy jaw on her chest. “He just brought up some points worth considering. He says my dad would've wanted for me to take care of you.”

“No.” Historia turned into him, sinking into the heat his skin offered. “Ese pelotudo es un pedo mojado. You shouldn’t care what he thinks or says." She continued, "Zeke doesn’t know you and he never has. He just enjoys getting under your skin and using your father against you because he can.”

Eren smiled into her chest, squeezing her tighter. “What is it with you Argentinians and farts?”

“Not like you Cuban’s are any better with your come mierda this and tremendo paquete that are any better. You sound like an old man sometimes.” She scoffed. “And you call _me_ the vieja.”

“You're the one with the back pains of an old lady."

"Only because you got me pregnant."

"Okay, okay.” He chuckled on her skin. “You got me there.” Eren went silent for a moment. He rubbed her back, pressing fingers to smooth out some of the pain. “I’m just saying that if you asked me to, I’d consider it a lot more.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I won’t. If you quit, it has to come from you.” Historia wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pouting into his hair. “But does this mean you’re moving in with me?”

His short lashes fluttered on her skin. “Yo pensaba que tú estabas jodiendo conmigo. But, uh...”

She snorted. “Why would I joke about something like that?" Historia tugged on his hair. "I’ve only been dropping hints since I found out I was pregnant.”

“You know me,” Eren muttered, “I can’t take a hint.”

Historia released a drawn-out sigh. Point blank and direct was the best route with them. “You already keep a toothbrush here and use my hair products. We live in the same complex, so it won’t be a major adjustment. You can use my car freely whenever I’m home and you need it.” She shrugged. “I don’t think Niccolo would mind if you left.”

“I’m not worried about him.”

“Then, what _are_ you worried about? You wouldn’t have to pay rent here.”

“That’s kind of it. It’s just everything,” he murmured. “I don’t wanna… mooch off of you just because we’re having a kid, Historia.”

She sighed through her nose. “Eren,” Historia said, cupping his face, forcing his sleepy eyes to look at her. “We’re family now. What’s yours is mine, and what’s mine is yours, you know? It doesn’t mean it’ll always be like this. Maybe one day you will get discovered, or maybe you won’t, but we’ll figure those things out when that time comes.” She brushed some of his hair. “For now, let’s just keep to the moment. Take it day by day. I think that's what your dad would've wanted for you—for you to be prepared for anything.”

“Mhm,” he hummed, licking his lips. Eren stared at her for a moment, so many things he wanted to say passing through his eyes, but he didn’t share any more of his fears. Maybe he'd tell her some other time. For now, he said, "I’ll move in if you really want me to.”

“Yes, I’d really like that a lot.” She kissed his lips, his nose, his forehead. “You need to go to bed,” Historia chided. “You have a test to pass tomorrow.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. "Don't you work tomorrow? _You_ should go to bed."

She snorted. "I called out while I was studying."

"Mhm. Okay." Eren nodded softly, stealing one last kiss from her before tucking back into her neck. "Goodnight, mama."

"Goodnight, mi amor," Historia murmured, turning off the TV. She left her glasses on the nightstand, folding into him until they were nothing but a tangle of locked limbs.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, the cat is named after Kida from Atlantis: The Lost Empire. The title is a reference to the movie, Say Anything. It's one of my favorites.


End file.
